


Pet

by snefrue



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Canon, Slavery, implied dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 23:15:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1282333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snefrue/pseuds/snefrue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Fenris chooses his battles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pet

It hadn't always been like this, he thought. There was a time, obscured by the smoky veil of fleeting childhood memory, when he was happy. Sometimes late at night, after he has finally succumb to sleep despite the soreness in his muscles and the hot pain of lyrium flowing just beneath his skin, Fenris dreams. He can hear laughter ringing softly in the distance - sunshine, grass, a long lock of soft hair accompanied by an even softer voice. He can recall a gentle touch of a warm, smooth hand pushing the hair from his eyes. But, the dreams are fleeting and offer little more than temporary comfort before the harshness of reality breaks through each morning as he rises, stiff and shivering. 

Before, days used to pass in a blur of motion and noise, hustling to and fro with menial tasks to be executed without complaint or error. But now, with his Master’s full attention, Fenris had become something of a spectacle - a weapon to be used against foes and a toy to be used in the privacy of Danarius’ chambers. He should be proud, he told himself, sitting at Danarius’ feet, like a watch dog, as his guests flitted about with wine stems gleaming like daggers in their hands. He had won the favour of his Master, honoured highly enough to be a “guest” rather than a slave at an event such as this. Yet, the coarse grating of Danarius' fingers against his scalp set his teeth on edge and he fought to keep the lyrium carved into his veins from flaring. 

“Come, my pet,” the silky voiced coaxed from above him, shaking Fenris from his thoughts. “You've scowled at them enough for one evening, don’t you think?”

Fenris stood automatically, his knees creaking from the strain of sitting on the cold, unforgiving floor. He risked a glance at his Master’s face, locking eyes with him for only a moment. In general, it was not a slave’s place to look directly at their superiors, but he knew Danarius perceived it more as flirtation than challenge. Normally, Fenris shied away from Danarius’ advances when it was avoidable, opting to brace himself when necessary rather than prompt his Master on. But on nights like these, when an unrecognizable rage worked its way into his chest, like talons into flesh, he needed a release. He needed to feel those hands, unmarred by work, caressing his skin as if he were a prized vase, painted and sculpted for Danarius alone. The man licked his thin lips and smirked, pressing a sweaty palm to the small of Fenris’ back. 

“I can do more than scowl,” Fenris replied softly, fixing his gaze on his Master’s freshly shined boots.

Danarius grinned wolfishly, gripping the back of Fenris’ tunic harshly before pushing him in the direction of the stairs. “That remains to be seen.”


End file.
